


I'll Hold Your Hands (They're Just Like Ice)

by alittlelove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Harry, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lawyer Louis, M/M, Norway (Country), Rimming, Smut, Snow, Top Louis, University Student Harry, legitimately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlelove/pseuds/alittlelove
Summary: Harry and Louis take a holiday to escape a raging Los Angeles heatwave and come face to face with an Arctic blizzard. Things don't exactly go as planned.





	I'll Hold Your Hands (They're Just Like Ice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haloeverlasting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloeverlasting/gifts).



> Thank you so much to the creators of this exchange for what you have put together. 
> 
> To haloeverlasting, thank you so much for the prompts. I hope you like what I've come up with :)  
>  
> 
> This fanfiction is in a sense an epilogue. I'm writing a monster of a fic right now. I have well and truly fallen in love with it, so I have taken this world and wrote its future. Need not worry, it all makes good sense. Hopefully the project will be published soon!
> 
> Title is from 'Baby It's Cold Outside'. Some characters aren't mine, some are. Also, spelling is Brit. All mistakes are my own. There is some dialogue in Norsk language, but it doesn't really move the plot along or anything. 
> 
> I hope you have had a wonderful Christmas and holiday season!
> 
> Enjoy.

                                                           

A fan whirls around and around. An air-conditioning unit runs at freezing temperatures for days on end. Paper fans have been brought into play. A clear, glistening backyard pool has had the most use it’s ever seen.

But nothing ( _nothing_ ), can stop the incessant heat.

The sun seems to be hanging onto it’s last few minutes of the day, reluctant to set and painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as Louis opens the door to his building with his foot. Flushed with both the humidity in the air and relief with the chance to escape the office for the day, he folds his blazer over his arm and royally embarks to his loyal, rightful throne, per se. His nest. His parking space.

As soon as the keys meet the ignition, he cranks up the air-con as high as it allows and undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, unwilling for the horrendous ‘winter’ weather to accompany his body any longer. He’s often found himself willing to just give up his life in Los Angeles, and re-gather back in London, but, eh, he wouldn’t quit a life just because the weather can’t get its shit together.

As the gloaming approaches, he begrudgingly listens to some hipster radio station he can’t remove from default and recalls his duty to pass a drive-thru for dinner. KFC’s closest, and their food always tastes equally as mouth-watering as it smells. He almost drools when the lady passes him the carton of cold drinks, and presses the two iced coffees against his cheeks and revels in the ice-cold feeling before he realises the next girl is waiting for him to pay for his food.

When he pulls up in the parking lot to his apartment, reluctant to feel the heat even for thirty seconds, he stalls in the car on his phone and checks his emails, replies to important ones, and reads texts from his colleagues back in London. Work’s been busy as ever as the holidays approach, the need to wrap things up so ever-present and tensions running high. Louis’ claimed this robbery case, where he’s almost certain he’ll lose anyways because his client is a fucking mental case, as the last one of the year. And they’re going to court tomorrow, so. If all goes well, he won’t be showing up at the firm on Monday.

It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy his new life in LA, a new atmosphere, no family, just a promise of good work and pay and his favourite boy by his side. He _loves_ LA. It’s become home for him, and work has no doubt fulfilled his expectations. His colleages are nice, and he’s friends with a few of them- Californians are extremely laid back. Some border on hippie, but it’s one of the reasons why Louis loves it so much. He just feels a bit of monachopsis- a little out of place. It’s not the same as his old firm, where he felt like the happiest man alive, working alongside his best friends and seamlessly meshing into the lifestyle there. After growing up in Doncaster, one of the roughest little towns in England, London should’ve been overwhelming and terrifying, but he felt right at home.

However, he does feel right at home as he hastily pushes the heavy wooden door to his apartment open. Louis feels instantly at ease as he walks through the dimly lit hallway and toes off his shoes, a warm gingerbread candle burning somewhere nearby. Or maybe that’s gingerbread cooling on the stove. Louis’ mouth waters at the thought of reality being the latter.

As he draws closer to the living area, the festive and joyous sounds of his favourite radio station’s Chrismas music countdown becomes louder and Poppy, his beautiful siamese, jumps off the back of the couch and curls around his leg, greeting him for the first time since he’d begrudgingly fed her at an ungodly hour that morning.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he picks her up carefully, in order to not spill all of the loose sheets of paperwork from his open work bag and the fries from the KFC box. She nuzzles into his shoulder sweetly. “That’s right. Mummy’s home. Where’s your Papa?”

Poppy then starts rampantly screaming to be let down, and Louis drops her onto the couch with practiced ease. So much for Thursday night cuddles.

His life would be a lot emptier in the cuddle region, though, if he didn’t have a boyfriend. So, he considers himself lucky.

And speaking of said boyfriend, _where the fuck is he?_

Louis turns on each of the air-conditioners, ceiling fans and floor fans of the adjacent rooms as he manouvers his way through the narrow hallway, cursing as he does. It’s. So. Hot. Especially in this cramped little apartment. He regularly finds himself pining over their open but cozy loft back in London. Where it wasn’t one million degrees. Aaanywaysss.

As he rounds the final corner of the hallway and enters the compact kitchen he’d fawned over when he chose the apartment, he sighs in relief. It feels like home, and it feels like holidays, and it feels like love.

Louis’ eyes are drawn to the light that reflects off the industrial lights that hang from the low ceiling and onto the window and the windowsill, where a small selection of plants, flowers and succulents lay. Then, he’s utmostly overjoyed to see a tray of cooling gingerbread on the stove. Trance-like, he fixates his entire being into his imminent need to eat gingerbread. He’d grown far too accustomed to having long breaks at his old firm, where he could eat to hell’s end. Hunger is a large part of everyday life, now.

He’s just _so_ invested in the cookies that he seemingly didn’t notice the menace of the household snickering behind him, sat at the bench. Louis only notices after he softly calls, “I’m happy to see you too, Lou, although I doubt my baking is.”

Louis startles at the familiar voice, his eyes meeting merry, sparkling ones crinkled with a smile. God, is Louis happy to be home. Brielfly turning back towards the stove, he snatches a pice of gingerbread and shoves it clean into his mouth, the taste undeniably incredible – not unlike the rest of Harry’s cooking.

“Fuck me,” he moans as he chews. “ _How?_ How do you do this?”

Harry smiles at him, big and bright, as he rounds the counter, Louis dropping his things and falling into his arms defeatedly. Harry scoops him up, and although it’s as hot as a furnace Louis forgets the heat and snuggles into him. He feels Harry’s rings dig into the back of his dress shirt as he whispers, “it’s witchcraft.”

They stay like that for a minute, subconsiously swaying to a stripped back rendition of ‘White Christmas’. Louis’ mournfully swallowed his gingerbread by now, and looks up at Harry with wide eyes. Harry glances back down, heavy-lidded and _tired._ They both haven’t had a break in months. Since they made the big move, even. As Louis glances at Harry’s face, he doesn’t just see the circles under his eyes as simple tiredness- he sees it as a testiment to the nights he’d stayed up in their office in London, writing college application essays for hours. He sees Harry’s raw-bitten lips a memoir to the anxious flights and meetings with bosses endured, his habit of biting his lips not one to wear away. He sees his hair, tangled and drooping past his eyes, a sign of busyness, the long days of classes, homework and study. He sees the physical impacts of their journey as beautiful. It represents how far they’ve come.

Harry gently holds him by the neck, thumbing over his stubbly cheek. Then, he leans forward and they kiss, long and deep. They’re careful, intimate and easy with each other. It’s like they’ve been holding their breath since the move and they have finally reached the surface and can breathe again. And _God,_ does it feel nice.

At last, they reluctantly pull back, Louis rubbing his arms up and down Harry’s biceps (out and unleashed, thanks to a muscle tank). Harry’s smiling down at him sweetly, a light dusting of stubble along his chin. It doesn’t suit him, but it endears Louis. “How was your day, love?”

A goofy smile blooms on Harry’s face as he nuzzles his nose into Louis’ cheek, the two of them unable to keep their hands off each other. “Average. Took my last final, finished school for the semester, no biggie,” he hums. “And then I was feeling a little charitable, so I made cookies.” He then gestures towards the oven.

Louis’ heart involuntarily fills with warmth and pride. He turns and smothers slippery kisses all over Harry’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you, my little scientist.”

Harry pouts. “Hey, don’t say that as if I’m so distant. We’ll still work in the same industry.”

Louis didn’t realise he was. He and Harry once worked in the same firm, and he can’t blame himself for missing the closeness they’d had.

“I know,” Louis pinches his nipple unforgivingly, smiling snarkily. “You will never escape the criminal world.”

Harry pulls him flush against his chest, his hands comfortable and resting on the dip in Louis’ spine. “Lucky I love it,” he says quietly. “How’s the case?”

“It’s alright,” Louis says. He will forever be glad of this common ground between them. Their careers are now dwindling in different paths, but their history remains similar. They’d be one of those couples who awkwardly tiptoe around work talk if they didn’t. “It’s a clean lose. Carmichael thinks we can weasel our way into not losing as much money, but he talks shit. He and Mitch keep insisting I still take two weeks, while they take care of the aftermath.”

“That’s nice of them,” Harry smiles.

Louis leans the side of his head against Harry’s chest, unable to properly control himself. Like a sensible adult should. Fuck adultery. “It is,” he sighs wistfully. “And dear Lord, am I excited to spend a whole two weeks inside with you.”

Harry jolts, holding Louis by the shoulders away from him so they’re standing eye-to-eye. “Away from the oh so beautiful weather outside?” Louis nods comically, seeing a humourous glint in Harry’s eye. “I could never agree with you more, babe.”

A sigh escapes Louis’ lips as he finally breaks their contact to saunter over to the fridge and pour himself a glass of cold water. “Can’t we go home for Christmas?”

Harry shrugs. “I mean, we could. But everything’s been so hectic for the past few months that I don’t think I can be that exposed to so many energetic people at once. I’m happy if it’s just the two of us for one year.”

Louis wholeheartedly agrees. But he can’t help feeling a tiny twang in his chest. His family mean so much to him, and Harry knows that. The thought of a quiet Christmas with his favourite boy is extremely appealing. Their families expect them to stay in the states this year. There are no expectations or hopes that will fail to be met.

He still can’t help feeling guilty, though.

He knows Harry can read him like a book, so he’s immensely glad to hear him ask, “New Year’s?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he gushes, rushing up to kiss Harry’s mouth hurriedly before calling a ‘Movie time!’ over his shoulder as he runs into the living room, pulling his slacks off his sweaty, hot legs.

 

Harry microwaves the now cold chicken and fries while Louis loads _The Holiday_ into the DVD player and sets himself up at the closest spot to the air conditioner on their couch. He’s joined a couple of minutes later, and he accepts his plate of food and his iced coffee gingerly.

It’s a little tradition for them to spend the days leading up to Christmas watching stupid holiday romantic comedies and lazing around all night. _The Holiday_ is one of their collective favourites. Louis is confidential when asked if the reason for that is Jude Law. Harry would argue that Iris (Kate Winslet in 2006, essentially) is just ‘ _soo cute, c’mon!_ ’

They stay silent for most of the film, which is quite unusual for them. Harry’s conventionally grown tired of his habit of whispering commentary, complaints and comments right in his ear for the entirety of the film. But he can’t exactly bring himself to talk, because he’s distracted.

Although he felt a tug within when thinking of his family back in England, a funny ache takes over Louis. It isn’t just cold weather he misses, it’s the spirit, and the season and how it makes him feel. He aches to feel that way over Christmas.

“Me too,” Harry says from beside him.

Louis’ eyes widen comically. He was never really one to keep his thoughts unsaid around Harry.

And. It doesn’t seem like a too far-fetched idea, going back way up north for a bit. They’re financially well-off. They have nowhere to be for two weeks, except if they visit the family after Christmas. It’s almost too good to be true.

And as Amanda comically yells on the TV for her cab home to halt, and runs through the snow to her lover, Louis and Harry share a look.

They need a holiday.

 

Later, in bed, after searching for hours, they book accommodation for Saturday night onwards in a cozy cabin in Sjusjoen, a two-hour’s drive from Oslo. Excitement thrumming through their veins, Louis plants a kiss on Harry’s shoulder and his eyes drift shut, ready to sleep. However, he is undutifully interrupted by a harsh sound emitting from his phone. Oh, shit.

An email sent with urgent notice.

When he reads it, surprise clouds his features. It’s unbelievable.

 

**_RE: CLAYTON ROBBERY (URGENT!)_ **

_Louis,_

_I regret to inform you of misconduct that has recently taken place. I was contacted, mere minutes ago, by Throckson’s litigator and judge Abernathy, collectively. They informed me of the newly-established settlement of the Clayton case. I noticed they did not inform you of this critical action. Not to be unprofessional, but it truly baffles me that they demand this in such a manner. We were to commence trial tomorrow! Weeks of preparation, down the drain!_

_However, I do see why they decided to take this action. Their fellow litigators, and especially our lawyers and stakeholders would suffer a huge financial blow if we commenced trial. It is not much of a secret that our client is guilty. But, at such late notice! What an inconvenience, especially so close to Christmas. I cannot see myself leaving the office._

_Tomorrow, Throckson has a meeting with Thomas, Carmichael and I. Usually, I would request for you to join, as you were a key voice for the firm throughout the preparation of this case and we value your views. However, they do not expect you to attend, as you have earned and prior requested two weeks leave. This will last from Saturday, 23 rd December to Monday, the 8th of January. _

_I hope you can trust this case in the hands of the firm. We will do everything we can to create a fair settlement between us and the plaintiff, with as little backlash on your client as possible._

_Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you will still be in the office tomorrow? Do not worry on busying yourself with projects, feel free to just grab what you may need, and head off._

_Happy holidays, Louis. Yours are well deserved._

_Regards,_

_Mitchell Grassi_

_Criminal Lawyer_ | _Thomas, Carmichael & Affillates _| _Los Angeles, CA_

 

 

Needless to say, he sleeps peacefully that night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s past ten when Louis drags himself into the office the next morning, only because he was far too relaxed at the thought of no more tasks and _maybe_ he was woken up with a _‘Christmas Eve-eve-eve’_ blowjob. Either way, he’s not complaining. But, he’s a little stressed because now he has to scrounge the office (literally the only people he knows in LA) for someone to watch Poppy while he and Harry are overseas. Claire, the intern? John Carmichael, the son of the ancient co-founder and partner in the firm, has a cat. Him? Mitch? He has a hairless cat that Louis thinks is pretty darn ugly, if he says so himself. Or maybe he can trust Poppy with Jessica, his bubbly office neighbour?

The mess in his little room of an office causes him quite the inconvenience, taking at least an hour to pack up and tidy before the new working year. He sighs and grumbles his way through that task, petulant as ever. Bless the building for having blasting air-conditioners everywhere.

He’s cornered by Mitch (!) once he’s taping up the last of his boxes to store under the desk. Although Mitch, one of the firm’s more highly regarded lawyers (at only 27!), works himself to the bone, he looks even more tired than usual, the sudden settlement utmostly at fault. His tie is askew and his hair, normally perfectly styled and primed, is sticking up in a way it really shouldn’t. A wave of sympathy rushes over Louis, guilt for ditching the case creeping up on him.

“Didn’t expect to see much of you today, Louis,” he pipes up, his tired chocolate brown eyes glancing around the room absentmindedly. Louis straightens up so they’re eye to eye.

Louis blinks. “I could say the same thing,” he says. “I envisioned you never seeing the light of day with that Clayton settlement on your hands.”

Mitch hums. It’s a weird relationship the two of them have. Professional but friendly, tight but loose. They’re so similar in how they do their jobs _and_ in their personal lives so, naturally, they get along like a house on fire. However, they’re both insanely outrageous and witty, and sometimes a lot of that becomes too much.  They’re essentially a bomb that could explode at any time.

“The big guys are holding down the fort for me for a little while,” Mitch states. The rings on his fingers catch the light and glimmer. Louis stares at the tattoos on the top of his hand and his fingers. The rules of dress code in the firm regarding tattoos have always been loose.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright to take care of it while I’m gone?” Louis asks guiltily.

He’s met by a piercing glare and a raised eyebrow. “Don’t fuss. I can’t see myself having much of a Christmas break, thanks to Abernathy’s invonvenient timing. But, we’re wrapping up as soon as we can. You deserve a break.”

Louis looks down at Mitch’s heels. His fashion sense always amazed Louis. Or maybe intrigued him. Or both. Maybe because it vaguely reminded him of Harry’s style, and the cool silkiness of the clothes he’d sometimes borrow. “Thanks.”

“Are you getting up to anything on the holidays? I wish I could travel, but.”

“Harry and I are going to Norway,” Louis says with a smile tugging at his lips. He still can’t really believe that that’s real, and it’s happening. That they’re leaving _tomorrow._

“Wow,” Mitch’s eyes widen comically as he adjusts his tie. “Scandinavia is amazing. I went to Iceland for New Years’ last year, was totally incredible. You’ll love it.”

Louis smiles properly. “I’m sure we will. However, I am in desperate search mode for a cat shelter or something though. We’ve never left Poppy alone before.”

Being an avid and active member of the Poppy Fan Club, Mitch does a little excited jump, gasping. “I love Poppy!”

And oh, does Louis know. Poppy was merely a three-month-old kitten when she met Mitch. Brought into London by an important conference, Louis offered his new comrade his roof and unexpectedly, his cat also. Although a ‘raging homosexual’, Mitch is quite the pussy magnet.

“Poppy loves you,” he grumbles at the memory.

Mitch has a glimmer in his eye when he replies, “Poppy can always stay at mine. Her and Wyatt would be the best of friends. I just know it. Plus, he keeps fucking around the house when he’s all alone and I’m at work so Poppy could keep him occupied.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. It’s a great offer and Mitch’s cat would just have to be extra-extra nice. Ugly or not, any cat that respects Louis’ cat as the queen she is is a good cat. Period.

“I’ll drop her in tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Needless to say, Poppy screams the whole way across town.

Surrounded by overnight bags, Harry coos to her in the backseat and holds her close to his chest as the little devil rebuffs his calm nature. Louis can’t help but laugh as he catches sight of them in the rearview mirror.

When Mitch answers the door, he’s disshevelled and tired-looking. The glasses on his long nose are askew, and his bitten fingernails scratch at his stubbly chin, then adjust his tee so it doesn’t hang off his shoulder, hiding a little tattoo on his collarbone, ironically text saying ‘collarbone’. With all of his worries gone, Louis’ guilt deepens. Mitch’s undoubtedly been working all night and will probably be all weekend. However, all stress seems to have gone out the door as Mitch then pastes a bright smile on his face, seemingly delighted to have a break to bask in Poppy’s presence. To say the least, a minute with Poppy Styles-Tomlinson is a minute to be treasured forever.

“Hey guys!” Mitch exclaims, gaze fixed on the squirming cat in Harry’s arms. “Come in! Please!”

Their flight is soon, but Mitch always has an abundance of good coffee in his lavish apartment. They step in and as soon as the door is closed behind them, Poppy leaps onto the floor and begins pottering around. It’s a new environment for her, but since another cat lives here, Louis trusts his wee daughter will be safe.

Upon request, Mitch provides them both with amazing coffee, however, he immediately sits back behind his laptop and gets back into some wild typing frenzy. Louis and Harry share a look.

They pour their drinks into plastic cups, pet Poppy and Wyatt goodbye (well, maybe Louis sheds a few tears at the thought of leaving his cat), give Mitch big, grateful hugs and rush out the door.

 

 

The flight is long.

Ten hours long.

Those ten hours are spent asleep, because they’re both worked to the bone. They leave the armrest up between the last-minute economy seats, Harry’s hair splayed on the window where his head rests. The aisle seat beside Louis remains unoccupied, so he curls his legs up and sleeps on Harry’s bicep. More comfortable than any airplane headrest the world could offer him, in Louis’ opinion.

His heart races in anticipation the entire time. many European countries and cities he’s been to, but never once has he been this far north. It’s new, and exciting, and Louis could not be any more ready to spend some well-earned time with his byfrien in the weather they love most. It’s truly been months since they’ve indulged like this, and it feels fucking good that things are going to plan so far.

 

Hours later, Harry shakes him awake as the plane smoothly descends onto the runway, which is the ony part of the ground that isn’t covered in thick, white snow. A smile takes over Louiis’ face. On instinct, his eyes meet Harry’s. he’s smiling too. This time, he doesn’t protest when Harry ruffles his hair and smudges a sloppy kiss onto his cheek.

_They’re here._

They meet their driver at the gate. It’s a fairly small, uncrowded airport and the sky is a bluey-grey colour around them. Snow falls lightly onto roofs of unluckily parked buses and coaches. It’s easy enough to make it through passports,and Louis is groggy as their driver, Nico, a frail Norwegian with a thick accent in his thirties and the owner of the cabin, helps him grab the bags at claim. Harry joins them joyfully a couple of minutes later, having scampered off to duty free with a plastic bag in his hands.

Once they’re huddled together under a wool blanket and on the road, Louis deems it appropriate to snooze off again. Harry politely and patiently chats with Nico, and shakes Louis when he’s half drifted off, exclaiming, “really!?”

The driver grunts a yes and harry turns to Louis with bright eyes. With his pale face, red lips and dazzling eyes, Louis would just lean right forward and kiss him. But, time and place. Time and place.

“In some parts of Northern Norway, on a regular winer, the sun’s only up for _four hours._ Four hours, Lou,” Louis hums. “ _But,_ this winter’s the coldest in the last two decades, so within the Arctic Circle, it’s only two hours light, and here, it’s four!”

He straightens up, although too tired to really gauge a reaction out of himself. It _is_ pretty wild, though. A heat wave in the USA, and a blizzard in Europe. “So, it’s basically night time all the time?”

Harry and Nico nod collectively. “That’s sick,” he says, looking out the window to the dark skies.

As they drive they pass mountains, all covered in snow, and frozen over lakes, and reindeer, even. Louis sleeps for most of the two hours –the rest with his eyes half-closed. His happy boy, ever so patient and kind, pats Louis’ hands under the one blanket and stares out the window eagerly at the beautiful country. Harry is so, so tired- a bachelor’s degree in forensic science is no easy gig- but somehow, he values Louis’ need for sleep more than his own. Louis will need to attempt to cook something tonight to compensate. Or maybe he’ll offer to unpack Harry’s bags. Neither options sound appealing.

Louis watches him. When he talks, Harry looks straight into the rearview mirror so he can talk to Nico, a strikingly charming habit of his. Louis observes as he looks out the window in their silences. He observes the pale of his skin against the darkness of the outdoors, and the white of the snow. He observes Harry’s cheekbones; how they’ve been so prominent lately, and his handsome jaw. He preens a little under Harry’s utter presence sometimes, like he’s someone he doesn’t even know; but longs for. But those thoughts always fly out of the window when Harry looks at him the way he does. Intense and attentive. Like his whole being relies on looking at whatever he’s looking at. That’s just how powerful the eyes of Harry Styles are. And Louis grants himself lucky every fucking day for everything they’ve been through. And that especially, through it all, Harry’s gaze has not faltered in its intensity, but greatened in its love.

It takes a shorter time than Louis had anticipates to reach the cabin. For such troublesome weather, Nico has proved quite the handy driver. And, upon first glance, he seems to be quite the holiday-home-slash-BnB owner. The residence is beyond beautiful. However, the driveay is snowed in, so thyhave to shove their gloves, beanies and brave faces on as they haul their bags up the long driveway. It’s fucking _cold._

Trees line where the driveway was, standing tall and covered in white. As they approach the residence, although Louis’ arms and legs ache, his heart pumps. They’re in the middle of a foreign country, in the middle of nowhere with a beautifu house to themselves for a couple of weeks. Louis grins at the thought of the endless possibilities.

Harry gasps happily at sight of the cabin, and Louis feels himself visibly light up. The pctures on the website definitely did not do this place justice. The building stands tall, glass shielding most of the front of the entire building from the snow. Its dark pine wood gives it a warm, wintery feeling and reminds Louis of his Mum’s house a little. Louis spots a line of different shaped candles along the lowermost windowsill, and a bookshelf full to its brim just above the sleek staircase. It looks wonderful. They haven’t even gone inside yet.

To say the least, the inside is lavish. It’s warm in the cold. There are three bedrooms, but Louis and Harry spend a quarter of an hour choosing the one with the most comfortable bed. And the most closet space. And the best view. It takes so long becaue they’re all almost as amazing as each other. Nico sorts out the keys and other necessities for them while they explore. The house includes a huge library, but all of the books are in Norwegian, to their dismay. A roaring fire stands tall in a fireplace before a fluffy sheepskin rug and a leather couch, donned with woolen blankets. The kitchen in at least three times the size of theirs in LA. It’s maybe even bigger than Harry’s dream kitchen he’d spent a month designing in their apartment in London, where their best mate Zayn is renting out while they’re not there.

When they return back to the foyer, all of the windowsill candles are lit. nico waits at the door for them, as they smile brightly, a book clutched tightly in Harry’s hand. Nico raises an eyebrow daringly.

“ _Liker du det?_ ” he asks. Louis squints, but Harry smiles brightly beside him.

“ _Liker du det?_ ” Harry repeats in disbelief as if he’s been speaking Norwegian for more than two hours. “ _Jeg elsker det!_ ”

Nico laughs gratefully. “ _Det er bra,_ ” he says. “ _Kos deg her, og God Jul._ ”

“Oh!” Harry exclaims. “It’s Christmas so soon! _God Jul,_ Nico.”

Nico nods thankfully, then rushes into the kitchen, to presumably check on something. Loui turns in cofusion to Harry, who points to the book in his hand with a cheeky grin. “Thought it would come in handy if I knew some phrases, even though we’re literally going to see no one.”

Louis nods, impressed, and lifts the book ‘ _Simple Norsk’_ out of Harry’s hand and flicks through. “Cool,” he hums, handing it back. “God, is this place not the best hideaway ever?”

Harry’s mouth quirks. “It’s pretty incredible,” he says, turning his head to look out at the faling snow. “But, I really just think…”

Louis looks up at him sweetly through his wet eyelashes (darned melting snow), and their eyes meet. ‘You think what?”

Harry’s smirk becomes full-blown. “I think that what makes it so incredible is that I’m with you.”

Louis barely holds himself back from jumping right into his arms when Nico walks right back in. they can have all the time in the world to canoodle by the fireplace when he leaves.

A set of keys are pried into his hand. “For the door,” Nico says seriously. Louis has no doubt that there has been an occasion where they have been miserably lost before. “There is enough food in the fridge for a long time,” Nico addresses them both. “Nearest food shop is down _Sjusjøvegen_ , but is a rough jourey by foot. I do not recommend. In linen cupboard you will see more blankets. When you look everything you need will be there. _Kos deg_.”

“Thank you so much,” they say in unison.

“ _V_ _ær så god_ ,” Nico says. “You’re welcome.”

And then he’s gone.

Louis turns on his heel to face Harry expectantly. It’s a little weird, to be with him without any expectations or doubts. No outside powers. No one but them. For two weeks.

_Bliss._

“So…” he starts, trailing off. Harry throws his book onto the long table beside him and pulls Louis in.

Louis barely can grunt out an _mmppff_ before he winds his arms around Harry’s neck, kissing him ferverently. Harry’s mouth opens against his own and Louis’ happy to make out for a while, _really_ happy, but he can’t while standing up.

“H,” he breathes into harry’s warmth. “In front of the fire.”

And it’s ironic, really. They fleed a place because of the heat, and the place where they fled to demands essentially the same amount of heat to be survivable. He tells Harry as such when they tumble down onto the plush white rug.

Harry honks out a laugh. “I never thought of it like that,” he says in one exhale, before pulling Louis back in.

For better or worse, they kiss until they fall asleep, much too tired to take it any further, let alone climb the stairs to their bedroom. However, it’s not underwhelming for either of them. Nothing is underwhelming for two jetlagged men in the snow at six in the morning on Christmas Eve.

What is the least underwhelming, however, is how Harry whispers a _Happy birthday, Lou_ into his hair right as they’re drifting off.

 

It’s around midday when Louis wakes again, wrapped in at least five woolen blankets but freezing his fucking arse off. And he can’t remove himself from the suffocating blanket-burrito that Harry must’ve arranged when he’d woken up, hours ago. Bah Humbug.

The snow seems to have calmed outside, no longer falling but settled in a thick coat on the ground outside. It looks picture-perfect. A sky of grey stares back at him through the large window, the sun peeking through a few stray clouds. He suspects that little glimpse of sunlight will only last a couple more hours.

As he wriggles around on the floor trying to free himself, Harry strolls in with a steaming mug of hot chocolate that Louis smells instantly. “You’re awake!” He says gleefully, and Louis frowns at him.

“H.”

“Yes, darling?” Harry asks, settling on the couch and flicking through _Simple Norsk._

“Would you do me a huge favour and unravel me?”

Harry pouts, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “But you look so cute.”

“I’m dying here,” Louis grumbles. Harry pinches his frozen cheeks for a minute and pets his hair, cooing, before he finally relents and unwinds the blankets. In yesterday’s sweater and joggers, Louis is _cold._ Undoubtedly, Harry is too, also wearing yesterday’s clothes. “Is there some kind of heating system in here?”

Harry hums and looks around for a second, then straightens up, Louis clasping his hands and jumping to his feet. “It’s over in the foyer, I think,” he says absentmindedly, before stalking away to presumably turn it on.

A minute later, heat rushes into the house, and Louis exhales in relief. He wasn’t too sure if the trip would be survivable if he was at below-zero degrees the entire time. Definitely not ideal.

Harry comes bounding in, then, and rushes up to Louis. He plants a small kiss onto the corner of his mouth and smiles warmly. “Happy birthday, love.”

Louis moves to hold Harry’s jaw in his palm, tracing his thumb over his cheekbones and preening under his gaze. “Thank you. I don’t quite fancy feeling like an old sod, though.”

A chuckle escapes Harry’s mouth as he moves to press his forehead against Louis’. “Hey,” he drawls. “You still look just as young as the first day I met you.”

And Louis could laugh at that, because technically, it’s only their third Christmas together. They still both worked full-time when they met, but were undoubtedly more carefree and reckless. Louis’ sure though, if they’d met in any other context at another given time in their life, Harry would’ve said the same thing. The charmer.

Harry must note his silence, so he adds in a whisper, “but for the record, I think you’re even more gorgeous.”

 _God,_ someone get Louis an inhaler.

Their eyes are locked, and Louis feels that they’ll both go cross-eyed if they stare any longer, so he closes his eyes and presses his lips to Harry’s. it’s soft, and sweet, and they’re careful not to open their mouths because of their lack of teeth-brushing over the last 24 hours.

When they break, they slurp up the hot chocolate up in record-breaking time and then rush upstairs to the spacious bathroom. Harry makes faces at him in the mirror as they brush their teeth, and grabs his face to kiss him deep when they’ve rinsed. He tastes fresh and like Christmas and Louis loves it.

After speedily washing the smell of airplane off their bodies, Harry drags Louis downstairs and presents him with a list scrawled on the inside cover of Harry's new book. Louis hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder and adjusts the knot on the towel around his waist as he reads a title of _Things to do on Holiday,_ clear in bold and heavily underlined. His eyes scan the page.

  * _Bake gingerbread_
  * _Make snow angels!_
  * _Catch snow in mouth_



The list continues with other winter cliches, and Louis giggles at the _Make love by the fireplace,_ the love not a word but a sloppily-drawn heart shape. Harry traces his finger around the also heavily underlined _Make snowmen of each other_ and Louis buries his face into his shoulder. To say he least, he had not been expecting an itinerary. It seems quite…

“Romantic, isn’t it?” Harry muses, smiling at him sweetly. Louis hums. If he says so. He’s seen Harry read winter couple aesthetic blogs before. They seem appealing. Ish.

“When were we planning to do all of this?” Louis lifts his head, raising an eyebrow.

Harry shrugs. “While we’re here, I guess. Do you like the ideas?”

Louis presses a soft kiss into the back of Harry’s neck. “I love them.”

His response causes Harry to spin around, bright eyed. “What should we do first?”

Louis looks down at the two of them. Most of the ideas sound appealing, but he’s really not in the mood to get all layered and dressed to go outside. They’re both naked, spare for the towels around their waists. Harry notices his eye’s path, and smirks at him knowingly.

Then, Louis holds him by his hips and kisses him until he can’t breathe anymore. They hobble up the stairs, throwing their towels aside as they do, and Louis climbs on top of him after they pounce on the large bed.

As he trails sloppy kisses all over Harry’s chest, Harry exhales in one breath urgently. “Want you to finger me.”

“Yeah?” Louis clarifies, his hand brushing his hair off his own forehead. He swings his legs off the side of the bed. “I’ll find the lube.”

He rummages through his travel bag, and his wallet, and then through Harry’s. No lube. Then he goes through their clothes. And their big fluffy jackets. And their bathroom supplies. And every other bag they’d brought.

Oh, no.

“B _a_ be,” Harry groans. He’s already so hard, _fuck,_ holding his cock in his large hand and thumbing over the head impatiently.

“We have a problem,” Louis announces. “No lube, no sex.”

Harry swears loudly. “Are you serious? Part of the reason we even came here was to do it undisturbed.”

Louis looks out the window solemnly. The snow has calmed. “Want to go and buy some?”

Concern flashes over Harry’s face. “Nico said we should probably stay here.”

“No lube, no sex,” Louis repeats.

 

And that’s how they ended up walking ten kilometres in a snowstorm to purchase a small bottle of lube. It’s expensive too- Norwegians must be quite the moneymakers. The wind whistles around them as they do, Harry almost slipping on ragged ice as they round the corner to return back. The sexual tension between them is majorly affecting their balance. The snow starts up again, this time it’s wild, but they’re estatic. Harry grins and cackles, both of them tilting their mouths up to catch snowflakes and they (try) to form snowballs with their freezing hands. Louis almost swears on his life that Harry would’ve punched him in the jaw when he dropped a handful of snow down the back of his puffy coat, if it weren’t his birthday. And also because he called Harry the human form of a marshmallow. At one point in their rush, also, they lay down and make snow angels, per Harry’s request. Louis feels like a big kid. He feels alive.

Once they finally reach the cabin with their little plastic grocery bag, they stop. Louis’ gaze fixates on the tiny snowflakes that have grouped on Harry’s eyelashes and revels in the beauty of his eyes and how they stand out against the white snow. However, Harry’s doesn’t falter from the door.

“Lou.”

Hi head turns in direction of the door. Oh, shit.

“Oh.”

Everything mostly looks the same. Exactly how they left it. However, the door is blocked by a thick coating of snow. At least a foot of it. He rushes up to the door, and pulls on the handle roughly after unlocking it until the snow gives. It takes a good twenty minutes.

When they enter the warmth of the cabin with their bottle of lube in tow, thank  _god,_ Harry strides over to the book and pencil lying on the kitchen counter and aggressively scratches out the items on his list that they'd experienced. Louis knows Harry's eager for the snowmen. But. The weather is outrageous and seems to be ever-growingly wild.

As Louis carefully brushes snow off his puffy winter jacket, Harry approaches him. "Are you hungry?"

Louis nods, assisting Harry with removing his own coat. "So hungry."

"I can't believe we almost got snowed in," Harry grumbles light-heartedly, stalking into the kitchen. Louis knows the grumpiness is an act. Anyone would act the same way when they had to walk for an hour in torrential snow - and a potential snowstorm.

Louis hums, glancing out the large windows. "I don't think it will really get any better," he then raises the plastic bag in his hand and rattles it to win Harry's attention over from the cupboard full of food. "Now, did we walk all that way to not put this to use?"

Harry turns on his heel. "Of course not," he says.

"Well," Louis tilts his head towards the staircase, all thoughts of food escaping his racing mind. Another kind of dessert will be served tonight. "C'mon, then."

 

There’s a snowstorm. And it’s a raging one.

But the two of them can barely begin to direct their attention to the weather.

They first make use of the new lube in the shower, after washing the remnants of dirt and snow from their bodies. Harry splits Louis open with his fingers and tongue until he’s begging and tears escape the corners of his eyes, and Harry pulls him up into his chest and jacks them both off, and their loud cries mingle as they come, streaking the dark tiles with white.

Round two takes place on the plush, unused bed. Louis trails wet kisses all over Harry’s damp body and rocks into him slowly, as heavy snow falls around them. They’re unabashed and loud with _I love you so much_ ’s and whines, nothing but the trees around to hear them.

Louis feels empty when it’s over. He stalks over to the bathroom to wet a handtowel and catches his own reflection. Although there’s a constant sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest, he looks the most relaxed he’s been in the past six months. When he walks into the bedroom, before cleaning themselves up, Louis kneels on the bed and fits his lips in between Harry’s gently, carefully. They both seem to treasure these times greatly, the air still thick with heat and passion. It’s always a quiet, peaceful time.

When they pull back, however, the peace is interrupted.

The heating cuts off and the lights go out.

Harry gasps underneath him, immediately rubbing his own shoulders where goose bumps begin to rise and whipping his head around to the floor-to-ceiling window. Trees are shaking outside with the force of the cold winds, and the sky is nothing but a white frenzy. And it gets fucking _cold._

It takes a few minutes for the heat to fully subside, but as the temperature decreases, the more panicked they become. As fast as humanly possible, they throw on all of the warm clothes they can fit on themselves, with assistance from the torches on their phones. Harry sends him a quick pout as they trek down the stairs so they can start up the fireplace, entangling their cold hands, almost apologetically. In response, Louis brings Harry’s hand up to his face and drops a kiss on his knuckles. The poor sod doesn’t need to go around feeling responsible for nature.

Harry looks down at his heavily socked feet. “I’m sorry so much went wrong on your birthday,” he says gloomily once they’ve reached the living room and lit candles are lining the walls around them and creating a soft glow in the room.

“Hey,” Louis looks up him, furrowing his eyebrows. “Don’t be. What happened today only made it more memorable and exciting.”

The smile Harry gives him in return is almost blinding. Louis squeezes his hand and pulls him into the kitchen.

“Show me what you can do with no power, wonderboy,” he says gleefully, sitting up on the counter and rubbing his arms in a feeble attempt to warm up.

And, to no surprise, Harry astounds him with his culinary abilities, yet again. To any other, they would probably be on the right side of mediocre. But, Louis can barely turn on the oven without causing catastrophe, so. The way Harry effortlessly can put together a whole meal is mind-boggling.

He’s presented with a cheesy smile and (somehow) a scalding hot chocolate, with a couple of marshmallows on the side. Beside that is a plate of different fruits; strawberries, cherries and apricots. Aditionally, beside that is a bowl of melted chocolate. _Legend._

“Most of these are in season right now, so they’ll be beautiful,” Harry wags his finger around the plate. “Plus, I thought it would be romantic to feed each other chocolate-coated stuff.”

Louis can’t contain his fond smile, leaning forward to smudge a kiss on Harry’s cold cheek. He turns back to the presentation before him, and then looks back up. “Thank you, H. You’re too good to me.”

A bashful grin overtakes Harry’s face. This definitely isn’t the most romantic, grand gesture either of them have done for the other, but upon the current circumstances, the smallest of actions seems significant. Over the proceeding hthirty minutes, they do as promised, Louis throwing cherries into Harry’s mouth from across the room. Most of them miss and land with a splat on the floor. The mess is dismissed, although on any other day Louis would’ve yelled his own head off.

“Y’know, this no power business is actually quite enjoyable,” Louis says as he chews on a strawberry, wiping chocolate off his bottom lip with the back of his hand. “When you forget about the below-zero tempuratures in here.”

 Harry’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, the soft candlelight relfecting and pooling in his eyes. Flecks of gold shine through the green of his irises and dances on his skin. Louis stares blankly, entranced as Harry’s lips move in response. “It’s better than I could have ever imagined.”

And although the only light outdoors is from the wild, raging snowstorm, and the circumstances could not have been worse, Louis is sure that this is simultaneously the best birthday and holiday he’s ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> Tusen takk for alt.
> 
> See you next time.


End file.
